


Twelve Steps

by jeta



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, Feelings, Fixing things, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Not Thor 2 Compliant, Plot possibly, Talking, and whatever, avengers continuity, bros, but mostly hanging out, by slight i mean its all over the place, hawkeye is the hawkeye from my life as a weapon, in the no-man's land of blended canons, its not gross, just your basic friendship fic, no offense jeremy renner, pizza dog - Freeform, pizza dog's chew toys, rated for language, slight angst, suddenly a wild plot appears
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:39:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeta/pseuds/jeta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of course it would be his style to show up at the party he hadn't been invited to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The city was in full revelry today, but all Steve could really think about was how much he missed his motorcycle.

He’d taken the train up from D.C. at 7:20 this morning, drinking almost a full pot of coffee on the way. The caffeine didn’t do much for him, but it was the thought that counted, right? He had tried to sleep, of course, but after the… after the afternoon when it happened, he hadn’t been able to fall asleep so easily. Two months now since the—(just say it, Rogers)—since the Bucky thing, and it was still constantly on replay in his mind. Nothing was loud enough to drown out the sound of the exploding Helicarrier, playing over and over like a broken record (or a broken Ipod, is that the expression nowadays?), nothing except the sweet roar of his motorcycle, a sweet companion melody.

  
But the motorcycle was in D.C., probably being “borrowed” by Sam tonight, and here was Steve pacing north up 5th Avenue with at a superspeed-walk, shouldering past thousands of faces in the crowd of green. The blaring of bagpipes and the constant ripple of crowd-sounds and New York cabbies ought to have pulled thoughts of the Helicarrier from his mind. But the more he tried to focus on his surroundings, the more urgent the ripping of metal became.

Steve shook his head.

If he just had his motorcycle, he’d could be there by now. He picked up the pace again, moving at what would have been a run for anyone never injected by superserum. A glance at his wristwatch told him he was close to fifteen minutes late, and he hated to keep his friends waiting. Or, “friends”? He still wasn’t sure what the term was for people you’d fought off an alien invasion with.

He decided to table that question. Weaving in and out of the people lining the Central Park sidewalk, he caught a whiff of some hot roasted nuts and the sweet smell of hot dog. He smiled to himself. It was good to be back in New York, really.

“Watch it!” said an aggressively drunk man in front of him, blocking Steve’s path. “Parade’s thatta way. You goin all the way up to Harlem, Blondie??”

Of course, New York could be a bit of a mixed bag. “Come on, man, it’s St. Patrick’s Day,” said Steve, distractedly lifting the smaller man out the way.

“All the more reason ta—hey, come back here, bub! Think you’re too good to tussle wit a little guy like me?”

Steve half-turned. The man was actually following him, which meant this could get ugly. He tried to pretend he had moved out of earshot, but the man just got louder, his thick Jersey accent cutting over the noise of the crowd.

“Afraid if ya lose a fight to somebody smaller than you, word’ll get out on the street maybe? Captain America goes over the hill, finally?”

Steve stopped in his tracks, shooting a worried look over his shoulder at the man he was just now examining for the first time. The man was small, well under five feet, and dressed in a black t-shirt that said social distortion, and beer-stained jeans. A Yankees cap and a pair of aviators hid part of his face from view, but the mouth and chin were covered in a very distinctive and very familiar little patch of facial hair. The mouth split into a gleaming grin. Steve returned it.

“How are things going, Mr. Iron Man?” he said, edging around a passing group of teenagers to give the other man a strong handshake. Stark returned it, leaned in close.

“Easy there, soldier,” came Stark’s voice at his ear. “There’s no Mr. And nobody knows it’s me.”

“Everyone knows it’s you.”

“No, I mean, nobody knows I’m out on the streets, incognito,” he continued as they started to make their way back up the street. “Tony Stark of Stark Industries is technically standing at the head of the parade waiting to kiss governors and donate to babies. Or something like that. But I, being the exceptionally magnanimous and very exorbitantly awesome friend that I am, I figured, let’s have Pepper get my body double to do that shit and you and me and Birdie can go get wasted on the roofie of the Guggie. Am I right?”

Steve grinned and pulled Stark’s paper-bag of beer from his hand. “You’re a little too drunk to be right about anything.”

“Hell no! This is the best holiday of the entire year, it’s impossible to be too drunk today.”

“So you really haven’t been recognized yet?”

“Like I said, I’m in disguise. Hey there,” he nodded at a passing blonde with her shirt tied up past her midriff. Steve steered him forward.

“Hence the accent.”

Stark shrugged. “I get a bit Pacino when I’m drunk.”

“It sounded a little more Jersey Shore to me. I thought we were meeting at the Guggenheim.”

He grabbed the beer back from Steve and took another drink. “And I thought we were supposed to be celebrating? And since when do you watch Jersey Shore?”

Steve made a face. “Natasha recommended it. I don’t for the life of me understand why.”

Stark started to giggle into his bag. “I think the Widow has been pulling your leg, dude. And since when have you been hanging out with Natasha?”  
  
Steve bit his lip. “There was… some stuff, in D.C.”

“Right,” said Tony. “That’s right, I saw on the news. Didn’t see Romanov, though.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you?”

Stark started laughing harder, hunching his shoulders like a little boy. Steve shot him a curious look. The guy was already pretty far into his cups for 5:15 in the afternoon. Despite the fact that Stark had organized this whole get-together in the first place, Steve suddenly sensed that Stark probably felt as awkward about this thing as he did.  
They had arrived outside the Guggenheim. Foot traffic still swarmed around them, but the two of them stood still a moment. Oddly, Steve realized, this little walk hadn’t really been awkward at all. He had respected Howard Stark when he knew him, but he hadn’t formed the highest opinion of Stark Jr. during their last escapade, and though he knew Tony had been involved in something about rescuing the President from a fiery Christmas tree, the time in between then and now had done little to reform his opinion. He had figured he might have to work with Tony again eventually, but he hadn’t expected to ever really like the man. Or be liked back.

But Tony had invited them all here, hadn’t he? He’d sent out a text to all six Avengers: St. Patty’s at my place, 5:00 sharp Guggenheim or you're off the team. Steve had been a little surprised that New York City counted collectively as Tony’s place, but he had accepted the invitation, figuring it was a cover for some new mission. But maybe it was really just to laugh and drink beer together? That was all this was about?

Well, Steve could live with that.

But then Tony abruptly stopped laughing, and wrapped his cold fingers around Steve’s arm. “Oh my fruity aunt, Hawkeye is being recognized.”

It was true. About five college-age girls and a few boys had spotted Clint Barton entering the building. One of the guys lifted up his shirt and handed Barton a pen. Another pointed to his butt when Barton’s back was turned.

“You’re getting video of this, right?” asked Steve, as Tony’s phone slipped out of his fingers and dropped to the concrete.

“Damn! Nevermind, don’t need it. I am never going to forget this.”

And judging from how many times Tony brought it up over the course of the next half hour, as they sat on the edge of the Guggenheim roof watching the parade pass beneath them, neither would Barton.

“I still don’t see how you get recognized when me and Steve are only twenty feet away,” Tony pouted.

Clint shrugged and took a pull of beer. “You’re losing your touch, I guess.”

“Pfft. Watch this,” said Tony, climbing to his feet and standing on the edge of the wall. “OI! Hey Irish people! It’s Iron Man!”

A few people glanced up before Steve pulled him down.

“Come on, man, take it easy. We haven’t got Thor here to swoop in and rescue you if you fall.”

“Yeah, where is Thor?” said Clint. “I’m assuming no one briefed him on the importance of this holiday.”

“Sent him a text, but I’m guessing it got lost in the ether,” said Tony, squinting up at the setting sun. “The whole point of this was really to get Bruce out of his lab for one goddamn afternoon, but no luck there either. He hasn’t seen the light of day since probably October, and I for one think he’s got a great claim for priority parade placement, with his special talent. I told him I could get him a hulk-size bagpipe if he came, but he kicked me out after that.”

“It’s always about Science Bruce with you, isn’t it? Glad we rank so high in your social calendar,” Clint quipped as Steve went silent. So that’s what this was about.

“Eh,” shrugged Tony. “You guys both get to hang out with Natasha, so I don’t feel all that bad for you.”

“And Romanov isn’t coming either?” said Clint through a frown.

“Never got an rsvp,” Tony shrugged again. “But my bet is she’s watching us from some secret spy camera at this very moment.”

Steve smiled and turned his face upward. “Hi, Natasha,” he called to no one.

The other two smiled. “Hey girl,” said Clint.

“I hope you don’t have x-ray vision turned on, because Barton isn’t wearing any underwear,” said Tony, getting a sock on the shoulder for it.

They waited a moment, but there was no response.

“Yeah, I guess you scared her off,” said Steve to Tony, returning his attention to the parade below. He had hoped Natasha would be coming. She wasn’t the type to kick back a cold one and let her hair down, but at least she understood what was going on with him. He was starting to miss his motorcycle again, just a bit.

“I don’t think the contents of my pants would scare her,” Clint was saying.

“Probably would scare anyone, no offense,” rejoined Tony.

“Oh, so that’s how it is? Who got recognized today, huh? Who got to sign an undergraduate’s nipples?”

“A male undergraduate.”

“I’m just saying, if you’re feeling jealous—”

“Guys¬—” interrupted Steve.

“Thanks, but actually doing alright on nipple signings—”

“Guys!” Steve snapped, and they both shut up instantly. He pointed down at the passing parade, his chest tightening.

“Oh…” said Clint.

“Oh my fucking fuck,” said Tony quietly. “Speaking of recognizing people.”

Down in the very center of the parade, walking tall past several oblivious policemen, was a regal figure from Steve’s bad dreams. The figure paused a moment, red sunlight flashing on his golden helmet. Slowly, as though listening to something far away, the figure turned his head in their direction.

It was Loki.

“Well at least he’s wearing green,” said Clint.


	2. Tony: Pursuit

“Well if it isn’t our lucky day,” Tony said, instantly pulling up every inch of authority he could muster. He may not be official team captain, but he had twice the smarts of these two combined. “Set up a perimeter and stuff, call Shield, get Fury on the–-” Tony broke off. Steve’s face had clouded slightly. Beside him, Clint shook his head a little bit. “Oh, right, we don’t call Shield anymore…” 

Steve backed up several steps, and for an odd moment, Tony was afraid he was about to take a swing at him.

Clint smiled. “And besides...”

In one smooth motion, Steve Daddy’s Favorite Kid Rogers had vaulted over the edge of the roof and landed in the courtyard just below. Nevermind that it was at least four stories down. Tony and Clint exchanged a glance at each other, then at the ground.

“...Captain America is heading in right now, and in his civvies, too." Clint finished. "Personally, I think we should stick to the bird’s eye view.” 

“With ya,” said Tony.

Clint leapt onto the edge of the roof, nimbly. Tony attempted to follow, but his tipsiness almost sent him flying too far. Clint grabbed his arm to steady him as his other hand went to his bow. A second later, they were pegging their way across the rooftop on Clint’s ZIPLINE bow and arrow.

“You didn’t tell me you had this kind of tech!” Tony grumbled.

“What can I say? I’m full of secrets,” Clint shrugged.

Tony laughed and slid across to the next roof. Amazingly, literally, this was going over everyone’s heads, which was a damn shame because he was pretty sure they looked awesome right now. Of course, people on the street hadn’t failed to notice Steve’s dashing-do entrance, though it seemed that no one had yet caught sight of the antlered Norse god in the middle of their parade. 

“What do you think he’s doing here?” he called ahead to Clint.

“…Celebrating?”

Tony looked down again, then wished he hadn’t. The ground was even further away now, and all his suits were even farther. Loki was still just walking down the street, for all the world like he was Saint Patrick himself, but Tony was sure a single zap from Loki’s scepter thing would be more than enough to send him tumbling to the ground…He could just make out the expression on Loki’s face: total calm, just like it had been at their last encounter in the Stark Tower penthouse. “Doesn’t look all that festive, to me.”

“…get this blueteeth thing on?” came Steve’s voice in their ears. “I’m keeping a steady twenty feet between me and him, but can you confirm that he’s not looking at me yet?”

“Yup,” replied Tony. “Nice to see the girls are finally appreciating you though.” Several of them appeared to have burst into tears as Steve pushed past them towards Loki. 

“I hate not being recognized,” said Clint from up ahead. 

“You could start wearing the thing,” Tony suggested.

“What thing?”

“The mask and costume thing?”

“Yeah, I was thinking about it actually,” said Clint as they sailed between two more rooftops. “I was thinking a cool color, like…blue…”

“We have a blue,” said Tony, jerking his head at Steve, below. 

“Blue and another cool color, purple maybe.” 

“…Blue and purple!” Tony said in what he dearly hoped sounded like an approving tone. 

“Could you two keep it down for a second?” said Steve. “I’m trying to infiltrate a parade here.”

“What is going on with today?” said Tony bemusedly as he and Clint reached the ledge of an apartment building facing the Metropolitan Museum. “Hey, how is it that nobody recognizes him, anyway?”

“I think they do, they just think it’s a costume,” said Steve’s voice in his ear, as Clint took to the sky again, using his grappling hook arrow to sail across 5th Ave to the Met stairs.  
Tony shook his head, wishing he hadn’t left his beer behind. “No one wears costumes on St. Patrick’s Day. What else?”

“He looks a little…disorganized, or confused. He keeps doubling back, have you noticed that? Unarmed, as far as I can tell. Favoring his left arm. He was right-handed last time, wasn’t he?”

Tony shot a quick look over at Clint, who was wincing.

“You do know him best,” Tony shrugged apologetically.

“Involuntarily. But yeah, he’s not a leftie.”

“Well, he is now,” said Steve from the earpiece. 

“Odd.”

Clint was still hunching his shoulders, as though to protect himself from invisible rain. He shrugged uncomfortably at Tony. “I’m sure he’s fine. Nobody’s going to try anything on a holiday,” said Clint. 

Tony gave him a raised eyebrow with a side of smile. “Oh my god you are so new to this. That’s exactly how you get some screwed-up supervillain with bullying issues to attack your city, you lean back and say hey, let’s take a break, today’s a holiday.” 

“He’s coming your way—” Steve broke in suddenly.

And indeed he was. Tony ducked back behind a flock of tourists, thankful for once for the high rate of obesity in the Midwest. He reached out to grab Clint back with him—but suddenly Clint was no longer at his side. He had gone stiff and casual at the same time, sort of like he had been before—when he was under Loki’s brainwashing.

…did brainwashing things in the brain reactivate when the brainwasher was in the proximity again? Tony cursed and peeked back around the tourists.

Clint was strolling down the steps at a leisurely pace. Loki had caught sight of him now. He was making his way around the stream of tourists and paraders that separated them. Red sunlight gleamed on his polished uniform. Tony bit back another curse at the look on Loki’s face.

It was exceptionally welcoming.

“Hey dude,” Clint said in a loud, friendly voice.

Loki looked up and smiled, a very even and meticulous thing. “…Hey,” he replied.


	3. Clint: Acceptance

After the initial heys, the conversation fizzled out pretty quickly. Clint was trying to think of the next thing to say. How are you didn’t seem right. Too formal. What’s up was also wrong. Not formal enough. But he wasn’t sure what else to talk about. It was a puzzle. And the crackle of the Bluetooth in his ear was really getting quite distracting. 

“Barton—come in, Clint, this is the Captain speaking—retreat, I repeat, retreat—” 

Clint did not retreat. He didn’t even switch off the Bluetooth. He was keeping himself very, very, very still, and gazing into the eyes of the Earth’s greatest enemy.

…who was looking as lost for words as he was. In fact, Loki seemed like he might be lost entirely. He was mostly holding Clint’s gaze, but also occasionally peering around them as though hoping to see something familiar. 

He looked mostly the same as when he’d attacked the city a year ago, but maybe a little leaner; from the way his battle gear shifted on its own accord, it seemed fair to guess he’d lost some muscle mass. His right arm was tucked inside his coat at an odd angle. His face looked sunken in, even more so than it had been last time, which was saying something, and the area around his cold green eyes looked bruised, although that had been true last time too. More than the physical changes (or lack thereof), there seemed to be a sort of…confusion lingering around him. Last time, every step and every movement had been finely, purposefully, deliberately orchestrated. Now, Loki seemed more intent on something invisible between them that Clint couldn’t sense. 

Clint reminded himself to keep breathing. This was all to explain to himself why he’d come over instantly, as soon as he’d been close enough to see his old enemy’s face, even when his brain was screaming preservation of your ability to breathe is more important satisfying your curiosity. Still, Clint had no idea what Loki intended. It finally entered his head that maybe this was all a ploy—but he didn’t want to back up now, and look like a coward in front of the Captain.

Finally, wordlessly, Loki seemed to come to a decision. He reached into his overcoat—Clint tensed, knowing the kill shot was imminent, knowing there was no way to block it—and pulled out—a tiny plastic dolphin.

Was that—a chew toy?

“Uh…” said Clint, trying to hold in his laughter.

“…Talk to me, Stark,” said Steve’s voice through the Bluetooth. “What’re they doing?”

“It’s…hard to know where to start. They’re not trying to kill each other yet. Far as I can tell, Loki is actually being nice and funny. Clint’s laughing, at least.”

There was quiet on the line for about five seconds while Clint lost the battle to keep his shoulders from shaking. Then Steve said, “That’s extremely suspicious.”

“Yeah, no…kidding.” Clint was pretty sure Tony had just bit back the other phrasing that had sprung to mind, which was no shit Sherlock.

Meanwhile, Loki slowly and carefully extended the plastic dolphin to Clint. Warily, he accepted it. And the awkward Clint-Loki standoff continued. Clint nodded. Then Loki nodded. Then they both nodded at the same time.

“…There’s something weird about him,” Steve said another five seconds later.

“Yeah. No kidding. Wait, about Clint or about Loki?”

Clint finally switched off his Bluetooth.

Three minutes later, Clint was bounding back up the Met steps to where Steve had joined Tony. The two of them glowered down, looking like sentinels from storybooks. Clint leaned protectively around the dolphin.

“He says he found her in the park,” he explained to the two sentinels. 

They gave him equally blank looks. Then: “…What?” they both said at the same time.

“Missy. That’s her name. For now, at least.” He held up the dolphin for them to examine, Lion-King style, and they both flinched. Tony even brought his arms up into a jiu jitsu pose.

“He gave you a toy?” Steve almost shouted.

“I think she’s a chew toy. I’m gonna give her to my dog.”

Tony looked skyward and wrapped his head in his arms. “Oh my god, he’s been brainwashed again.”

“I know this looks bad,” said Clint, but they’d both started ignoring him again, Steve tugging on Tony's arm as they started peering around the Met columns to get a better view of the alien god. Clint sighed. He never got any attention.

“He’s moving. Do we follow him? Clint, where’s Loki going?”

Clint shrugged. “Back to the park, probably. He’s been sleeping there, he said.”

Sure enough, Loki was striding back into the grass behind the Met. He’d taken his helmet from his head and was trying to lie back on the lawn, but there were too many tourists walking this way and that.

“Right now?” spluttered Tony. “It’s like 5:30.”

“Yeah. Apparently he gets tired a lot,” Clint repeated. “Said he’s been sleeping through most days and nights, but I didn’t ask why. Says he only woke up now because the bagpipes were giving him a headache.”

They returned to staring at Clint. “Aren’t you two chatty,” said Tony, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning.

“We didn’t talk that long. He said he got here late at night about a week ago. He’s been in the park the whole time.”

“Can somebody call Thor?” asked Steve, looking bewildered. 

Clint immediately complied. He looked up at the sky, cupped his hands, and yelled: “THOR!!” 

A moment of silence passed. Then Clint turned back to the others. “No word.”

Tony patted him on the back. “Well thanks for checking, buddy.”

They all looked back at Loki. He had given up trying to sleep on the crowded lawn, and had gone to lie down on the sidewalk. He hadn’t even bothered to cradle his head in his arms; he was just lying there, face against the concrete.

“…Wutuhfuh?” mumbled Tony.

“That’s kind of…sad,” said Steve.

“I think we should help him,” said Clint, not even sure why he was saying it. “He’s going to get eaten by raccoons out there.”

The other two squinted at him again. 

“I’m not brainwashed. Seriously. I just think he seems like he needs…something. You know, people have gotten our stories wrong, too. Maybe it’s unfair for us to judge—”

Tony shook his head. “Attacks our city with aliens, eaten by vermin in Central Park…that seems like a fair outcome to me.”

They both looked at Steve. Steve looked at Loki, then at the ground, holding his chin in his hand. Clint squeezed the dolphin, which made a little squeaking sound. 

“You’re the one who wanted a reunion,” he said very quietly just to Tony.

Before Tony could reply, Steve had begun speaking, his voice low and even, like the voice of God. 

“We keep someone watching him at all times. We assume for now that he’s up to something bad. If there’s any hint of a threat to city security—”

And, of course, that was when bomb blew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!


	4. Loki: Acknowledgement

He’d just gotten his head into a comfortable position on the concrete when all three Avengers came storming over, forming a triangle around him.

“Get up, scumbag!” said the short one. “Get up now and start talking.”

Loki crooked one eye open languidly and half-rose so he was propped on his elbow. He frowned at their furious faces. “What is it you’d like me to talk about? I’d recommend politics, epic literature, or the ancient history of kinetic universals, but it’s your choice.”

“How about THAT!” said the short one, pointing south. “The plume of smoke right over where my goddamn tower used to be!”

Loki frowned again and craned his neck. Of course he’d heard the explosion, but nothing had blown up in his little patch of grass, so he hadn’t really cared. Sirens wailed like unattended babies on the streets nearby, and the mortals that constantly walked these streets seemed unusually upset, from their voices and faces. Not unlike the Avengers themselves.

This was all going to make it very difficult to get some proper sleep.

“I don’t know anything about that,” he replied blandly.

“OH REALLY—”

“Tony, don’t threaten him,” said the dorky one, pulling the short one back. Loki had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing: the short one had actually tried to grab hold of his neck, like he was going to wring it with his tiny little hands. Barton grabbed the short one by the other shoulder, and the two of them held him back. Loki was surprised by this. Was Barton defending him? They should have attacked him by now. Why were they being so nice to him…? And then Loki suddenly realized that they were all still afraid of him, physically. “He’s a god, we gotta play this careful—” continued the dork until Loki abruptly cut him off. 

“I’m not a god anymore.”

That got their attention. They all froze.

“…since when?” asked Barton.

Loki sat up all the way. “Since I got here. I haven’t got any magic, and I haven’t got superior strength any more, and I haven’t got any friends with bombs on this planet, so you see, it couldn’t have been me who attacked your dear tower. I don’t even have any incentive to, to be quite honest.” He couldn’t resist adding that little tag at the end. To be quite honest. Thor had always fallen for that one too. 

“You’re really not a god anymore? But – why?” asked the dorky one.

Loki opened his mouth to reply…then shrugged and bit down on his tongue again, but for a different reason. His memories of why were not totally clear…nor were they totally pleasant.

“…You can kill me if you want,” he finally said, keeping his voice as bland as possible. “I’m as mortal as any of you.”

“Is that information, or is that … a suggestion?” said the short one, the anger in his voice starting to thin.

Feeling suddenly more awkward than he had in a long time, Loki decided he didn’t want to respond to this. He focused his attention on a pigeon flying towards the fading red light in the western part of the sky. The smoke from the explosion had not entirely obscured the brilliance of Earth’s sunsets. 

“So Thor is okay, though?” asked the dorky one.

Loki couldn't help a deep sigh. “Last time I saw him, yes.”

“Yeah, but you still blew up Stark Tower.” 

Oh, right. That was his name. Stark. Loki smiled up at the short one as though he were an old friend.

“I really didn’t, Stark. I did try, last time, but I haven’t been anywhere near there lately.”

“Like hell you haven’t,” sneered Stark, pulling his communicator from his pocket and beginning to pace angrily. “I’ve got 57 missed calls in the last two and a half minutes, all   
because you ‘haven’t been anywhere near there lately.’ Just because Pepper’s handling this whole fiasco with extreme and admirable competence doesn’t mean it’s not gonna cause me a major headache, for which you are primarily liable. You’re just lucky the building was empty, because if any of my staff had been in there—”

“Easy, Tony!” The dork placed a hand on Stark’s chest. “Let’s give him a chance to speak for himsel—Wait, hang on, I’m getting a call – yeah, hi Nat.”

At this name, Stark and Barton exchanged a meaningful look, the meaning of which was lost on Loki. He kicked lightly at Barton’s toe and whispered, “What’s that one’s name again?”

“Natasha?” said Barton, frowning.

“No, I remember her. The other one.”

“Steve Rogers? Captain America?”

“Oh yes, right,” said Loki. 

Stark frowned heavily at Barton. “Way to go with the whole secret identities thing. Key idea there being secret.”

“I’m just jogging his memory!” 

Stark frowned harder, but Barton didn’t look terribly perturbed. He was scrubbing what looked like spilled mead from his deep emerald green tee; the little spot for the logo had a green clover and a little "kiss me I’m Irish" inscription.

“You’re not actually Irish, are you?” Loki said, pursing his lips. He didn’t remember much about Ireland from the last time he’d been to Midgard—or the last time he came when he was sane—but he did remember that Ireland was definitely, absolutely, and in every important way not Norse.

“Polish, but who’s checking?” Barton said, and not for the first time that night, Barton actually smiled at him. For some reason, Loki wanted to shudder. He was used to people smiling at him because they had to, and he was used to people smiling at him because they wanted something from him, but Barton's smile wasn't like those. It was more like one of Thor's, broad and puppyish. It didn't make any sense. He'd brainwashed Barton, hadn't he? Shouldn't there be more angry frowning and wailing, like Stark?

“Okay, turns out Natasha HAS been watching us,” said Steve Rogers abruptly, turning back to them. “She’s been on with Fury this whole time, but they, uh…well, no one seems 100% sure about what to do. She says Fury wants us to bring you in, but not to the police, and definitely not to Shield.”

Again, Loki was more than a little taken aback. “Why are you telling me this? Why not just…” he pantomimed handcuffs and being under arrest, and being put in solitary, and being sent to the hangman. He was pretty familiar with how these things usually worked.

Steve Rogers looked confused, though. His forehead wrinkled. “Well – look, we just wanted to invite you to…uh, not sleep on the ground.”

Tony raised a hand. “Actually, this brings up a really good point. I had planned to have you two stay over at my place tonight, but since that plan is SHOT, where are we going to sleep tonight? Do you guys prefer the Ritz or the Plaza?”

“I hear Trump Towers is quite nice.”

“Shut up Clint.”

Steve Rogers shrugged awkwardly. “I’m – uh, I’m alright with anything…something simple, maybe…” 

“Simple? My Tower got blown to bits, I’m not doing simple. I’m thinking room service, full massage, a night of good Irish courage…”

Loki let them talk. He didn’t want to be a part of this conversation anymore. He really just wanted his patch of grass back, but those tourists seemed to have planted their overly large back-ends there for the remainder of the evening. He sighed and lowered himself back to the concrete as the Avengers continued discussing his fate and their hotel room. He was so tired. He just needed to sleep…

“Hey. Hey!” 

He started back awake. This time it wasn’t Stark. Barton was shaking his shoulder, and he looked a little concerned. Loki’s stomach lurched, as it had been doing a lot lately. 

“Why don’t you guys all stay over at my place?” Barton said mildly.

“That sounds nice,” said Steve Rogers.

“In… Brooklyn?” said Stark, sounding horrified. His voice was very sharp. Loki tried to rearrange himself so that he wouldn’t have to listen anymore, but it was difficult to do without jostling his upset stomach.

“It’s big, it’ll fit all of us easily.”

“Appreciate it,” said Steve Rogers. 

“And you guys can meet Pizza Dog. And Pizza Dog can meet Missy.”

Loki closed his eyes again and tried to roll over, but was stopped in place by Barton’s leg.

“What do you think, Loki?” said Barton. “Sound like a good plan?”

“You’re…inviting me?” he tried to say. He only got about halfway through the sentence before his stomach roiled once again, and seemed to contort itself up somewhere between his ribs. If he’d had anything to eat in the last week, he would have heaved it up right then. As it was, he just retched dry air, coughed, then retched again.

“I think he likes it,” Stark said approvingly.


	5. Tony: Accomodation

“Aw, Pizza Dog!” cried Clint as he let them into his apartment, banging the keys onto a hook in the wall.

Tony couldn’t help a smile. The adorable little creature called Pizza Dog had chewed everything in sight. Stuffing from the couch pillows had been dragged all over the floor, and the remains of a leftover lasagna had been spilled, then eaten, in the kitchen.

“You never told me you had a dog,” Tony chided Clint, reaching around him to massage Pizza Dog’s neck.

“He’s not my dog. He’s the bane of my existence and a curse on my household.”

“Good boy,” Tony murmured approvingly. 

“No Missy chew toy for you,” said Clint.

Behind him, Steve – and Loki – filed in, Steve patting Pizza Dog’s head on his way. Despite Tony’s initial fears, the apartment wasn’t a bad space. In fact it was pretty huge, but   
underfurnished and messy. 

“There’s not even a TV,” whined Tony. 

“Yeah there is,” said Clint, pointing. 

“Oh excuse me, I took that for a shoebox.”

Clint shot him an evil look as he put a Cat Stevens record onto an actual record player in the corner. “Help yourself to stuff,” said Clint, pointing vaguely at the kitchen.

As Steve set off for the kitchen, pulling paper towels down to the floor to clean up the sticky lasagna mess, Tony slid to a seat on one of the two long, faded purple couches, which were plenty large enough to accommodate all four of them comfortably. Loki remained standing near the door until Tony looked at him and gestured pointedly at the opposite couch. When the other man – or god – or no, man – took a seat, Tony felt a little frisson of anxiety wash through him. He suddenly wished they weren’t the only two in this part of the room, and he hurriedly turned his attention to their surroundings so he wouldn’t have to look at Loki.

…Tony had no idea how long Clint had been living in Brooklyn, but it seemed he was the type to be perpetually in the process of moving in. A lot of his things were still in boxes, lining the walls. A few picture frames had been deposited on sidetables, but nothing had been hung on the walls. There was no dishwasher. But there was ample evidence that the place was all Clint Barton’s. Arrows had been shot into the high ceiling, and no less than seven different bows leaned against the far wall. Tony noted that there was a guitar pick in one of Clint’s slippers. His desktop computer (seriously, and not even a Mac) was screensavering through pictures of kittens running through fields of wildflowers. (“That’s Kate’s doing,” was Clint’s excuse).

“Poptart?” Steve offered as he returned to the main room, taking a seat next to Loki, but not too next to Loki.

“Please,” said Tony. Steve offered one to Loki too, who was looking at it curiously. He reached out a hand almost shyly, but drew it back instantly as a knock came at the door. They all froze, except Clint, who went to answer it. 

“…It’s Iron Man,” he called back. 

“About time,” said Tony, throwing his Poptart wrapper at the metallic head of his walking armor.

“You didn’t invite any other friends, did you? Cuz I don’t have unlimited space, here, and my neighbors hate noise,” said Clint. “And like, don’t move them in public. The bros down   
the street will cut you.”

“Oh come on,” Tony complained. “My Tower got blown up today. Where else am I going to store my heavy machinery?” 

“You don’t know these bros like I do. They will cut you if you blink in their direction at the wrong time.” Clint shuddered, a little over-dramatically to Tony’s mind.  
“Well, what’s the wrong time?”

“…Anytime, basically,” said Clint. “Just don’t mess with them, okay?”

“…Why don’t you just call the Ombudsman or something?”

“What?” Clint drew back. “That is so… not… superhero.”

“Yeah, but it solves the problem.”

“Unless they cut the Ombudsman.”

“Hey, uh, guys,” interrupted Steve quietly. “…I think you put our guest to sleep.” 

Guest, Tony thought to himself, snorting. Probably more like intergalactic spy. They had been talking quietly, but if Loki was awake, he could still hear everything. 

But he looked dead to the world. His face was planted on a break between two cushions in what looked like the most uncomfortable sitting-sleep position Tony had ever seen. Loki had fallen asleep several times on the taxi ride here, too, his head slipping onto Tony’s shoulder a couple of times because Tony (as the smallest) had been forced to sit in the middle, even though he was the one paying for the cab. Life was hard.

...Especially when you got your entire skyscraper blown up, and on a holiday.

“Okay, seriously, what are we gonna do with him?” he said to the other two.

“Let him sleep?” suggested Clint, shrugging. “He looks exhausted.” 

“Well yeah, plotting to take over the entire universe is pretty hard work.”

“Yeah, but he looks… like, homeless. And famished,” said Clint. “I dunno. It could be a ploy. But we haven’t actually seen him do anything bad yet, this time around, and…”

“And no one fakes looking that lonely,” Steve said suddenly.

Clint nodded, looking unhappy about it.

Tony threw up his hands in disbelief. “The city is in meltdown mode. Stark Tower gets blown to pretty pieces, and Loki shows up on the very same day? What are the chances that the two are unrelated?” 

“Basically zero,” Steve conceded.

“No. 0.0 percent,” said Tony. “In fact, specifically, scientifically speaking, it’s gotta be more like 0.000000000000 percent.”

Steve just drew a thumb along his overly-chiseled jawline, musing. “So we keep him here for now, but we wait and see. Tomorrow I’ll go check out whatever’s left of the tower, and Tony you try to work out how to contact Thor. But somebody has to stay up with him –”(he nodded at Loki) “all night, to keep an eye out.”

“I’ll do it,” Clint volunteered, moving over to the couch where Loki was sleeping.

But five minutes later, when Steve and Tony returned from the kitchen with more poptarts and fresh-brewed coffee, Clint was fast asleep too. 

The two of them, a thing that Tony realized was becoming slightly more routine. “That didn’t last long, did it?” said Steve.

"It's like 7:30!" Tony said, then sighed and looked over at Pizza Dog, who was sniffing his way through Clint’s discarded jacket. “Pizza Dog, you're the one who holds this place together, aren’t you?” Pizza Dog barked once, the dolphin chew-toy in his mouth, and trotted over to sit between Tony and Steve. "Well, Steve, I know your one for vintage, but I am NOT watching a movie on that piece of crap, and I am NOT going to fall asleep in this bro-infested neighborhood with an alien god on the loose. So what do we do for fun tonight?" He spread his arms wide and gestured to the apartment at large. "And don't say gay sex," Tony added in a very very quiet undertone.

For a moment Steve just looked blank. Then he said something Tony never would have expected.

"Do you guys still play truth or dare?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading guys! i promise this is going somewhere... eventually.... via the scenic route...


	6. Steve: Choices

It was getting Very Late. 

Steve rubbed his eyes back open and glanced at his watch. It was Too Late. They’d been playing Truth or Dare for close to seven hours now, after mutually daring each other to stay up all night babysitting Loki.

Clint, the original babysitter, hadn’t budged from his couch in that whole time. He was snoring loudly through his mouth since both his nostrils were filled with a strange orange substance that Tony identified as Cheese Whiz. His ear canals had been filled a few rounds later. Steve had been tempted to call this immature, but as it turned out, it had just been funny. Most of the Dares had been similarly juvenile. They had both prank-called Pepper Potts multiple times, both of them forced into confessing their undying love for her (though Steve had only met her the one time, after saving the world). Of course, Pepper had wanted to talk about Stark Tower and updating security policies, but Tony had eventually cajoled her into joining the game remotely. She had stayed on the line with them for an hour or two, her Truths revealing more about the mysterious inner workings of the female mind than Steve had ever thought possible, until Tony dared her to just settle the issue once and for all and choose between them who she was going to marry. After she chose Steve, Tony hung up quickly.

The highlight of the night had been about half an hour after that, when Tony had been induced to dance a short polka while wearing Loki’s helmet, an incident that made Steve wish dearly that he’d mastered the use of the video camera. Pizza Dog was now wearing the golden horns, though not happily. Like Steve, he seemed to be getting more and more interested in sleeping right about now, but was unable to fulfill that interest because of Tony’s incessant giggling. 

Tony was currently curled into a small crescent on the floor, in the fetal position, giggling like a baby at Steve’s latest Truth. Every time he had almost gotten control of his laughter, he would glance over at Steve, then hiccup, and that would set off a whole nother round of hysterics. Steve scowled. The last question had elicited a few choice details about what he really thought of Natasha. He had planned to keep that particular confession intact and unspoken to his grave, but it had somehow emerged after five hundred rounds of this stupid game.

Loki, who was the reason they had to stay up this late at all, had been asleep the whole time too, but restlessly; he would shift positions every five or ten minutes, but without opening his eyes much or acknowledging their presence. He had already ruined the elegant cursive letter L that Steve had had to cheese-whiz onto his forehead (“L for Loki, and for Loser,” Tony had dared). For all his evident exhaustion, he seemed to be unable to slip all the way into REM sleep. Steve couldn’t help but feel a little bad for the guy. He knew firsthand how frustrating that could be.

Steve tried explaining some of this to Tony, hoping it would divert attention away from their last topic of conversation. It took a few tries to get through to him though. Finally Tony paused from wiping tears from his cheeks and managed a very eloquent, “Huh?”

“Wait—” said Steve suddenly, his skin crawling.

There was a heavy thud, as a boot landed on the fire escape outside the nearest window.

That was all the warning they got.

“Get down!” Steve yelled as he jumped forward, the window exploding around them, glass flying in every direction.

His instincts took over. He flung himself over the nearest target, in this case Clint, who was groggily shaking himself awake, and pushed him into as small a space as possible while pulling his vibranium shield over the two of them. Bullets impacted against his arm, but as always the shield held firm. 

Pizza Dog started to yelp. Somewhere nearby, Tony swore, sending a rush of relief through Steve’s system; by the big window, a thuggish voice yelled, “We warned you not to make the noise, bro!” and sent another thundering round of gunfire into the room.

The overhead lights went out, and this time Tony cried out in pain; Steve tried to twist around, but his view was suddenly blocked by the Iron Man armor, which had come to life on its own and was moving toward the man on the window. Tony was staggering towards his armor, but the gunman from the fire escape now had a perfect line of fire, and there was no way Tony would make it to the armor in time—Steve shouted a warning, knowing that the second he moved his shield, the gunman would fire on Clint instead—

And then Tony was down, the Iron Man armor had attacked both thugs, sending them into a hasty retreat, and the apartment went silent again.

“Tony!” Steve cried, finally letting Clint unravel himself and springing to the side of his fallen friend.

…Only Tony wasn’t fallen, Steve realized suddenly. He had been pushed.

“Wathehellsgoinon,” mumbled Clint groggily, digging cheese whiz from his ear. 

Steve didn’t answer. He was staring at the sight across the room. 

Loki was lying protectively over Tony, neither of them moving. Blood flowed steadily to the floor beneath them.


	7. Clint: Learning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the little cliffie back there. i was kinda busy the last few days over the weekend, but i'm thinking i'll have time for regular updates now. 
> 
> thanks for reading!

A flash of light from outside illuminated the room for the briefest of moments, but it was enough for Clint to see the after-effects of the latest disaster.

He’d been mostly asleep for it, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Loki had taken a hit. He was lying motionless in a heap on Clint’s floor, as Tony squirmed out from underneath him.

“You’re alright?” Steve said to Tony, pulling him into a sitting position. At the window, the Iron Man armor swiveled its head to confirm.

Tony managed a shaky nod to them both as Clint crossed to his kitchen storage to fetch the emergency flashlights and lanterns, feeling sad and depressed. Those damn bros had shot not just his guests and friends, but his APARTMENT. That was pretty low. “My neighborhood sucks,” he sighed over his shoulder by way of apology, and this time Tony nodded firmly. 

“You are correct about that, my friend.”

Clint set a lantern next to Tony, and another next Steve as the Cap moved to examine Loki, his hands hovering over Loki's prone form without actually touching him. There was just enough light for Clint to make out the drawn, pale faces of his friends. He was vaguely aware of the fact that his knees were now becoming wet with the blood pooling on his floor. He pressed one finger into the red. 

“Is this yours?” he asked Tony, who shook his head, wincing.

“Mostly not, I think.”

“Mostly?” Steve interrupted, pivoting back around.

“My wrist,” said Tony, waiving his left arm. Though he had wrapped his other hand around his wrist, there was a dark stain seeping through his fingers. Steve immediately and silently pulled off his shirt and started wrapping Tony’s bleeding arm in it to staunch the bleeding. “It’s pretty shallow,” said Tony nonchalantly, like he was talking about a kiddie pool.

“Shit,” Clint swore, reaching for his phone. “I’ll call an ambulance – ”

“No no, don’t!”said Tony quickly. “It’s cool, this kind of thing – happens to me all the time,” he said, grunting through an obvious wave of pain. Over at the window, the Iron Man armor was shaking its head. Steve looked at Tony and did the same.

“I’m calling the ambulance,” Clint said.

“Don’t think that’s a good idea!” said Tony frantically.

Steve frowned and pressed the makeshift bandage tighter as Tony growled through his teeth. “You worried about Loki?”

Actually, someone probably should be, Clint thought to himself. Loki still hadn’t moved, and the blood beneath him was still spreading. Looked like he wasn’t lying about mortal after all. Or hadn’t been lying. Clint wasn’t too sure Loki was still alive enough for it to matter. Pizza Dog had started sniffing around the body worriedly.

“I’m worried that Pepper is going to kill me,” Tony grunted. “She made me swear a solemn oath not to get injured for an entire year. That was at Christmas so it’s been – ah – been like only three months.”

“She’s going to find out eventually,” Steve commented.

“Not if you swear on your shield never to tell her,” Tony said swiftly. 

“I’m not swearing to that. It’s a lie. And don’t swear on my shield.”

“But it’s a sign of all things holy – ”

“It’s just a patriotic symbol – ”

“Like I said, a sign of all that you hold holy – ”

“Guys,” Clint interrupted, pointing at Loki while trying to avoid looking at him directly. “No one here is a doctor. We definitely can’t take HIM to a hospital. And I’m pretty sure for all their nasty history, Thor is actually going to kill us if we let his little brother bleed out on the floor – ”

“Did somebody call a surgeon?” said a sudden dark voice from the window.

Steve, Tony, and Clint all screamed. Pizza Dog started yapping again. The dark form stepped into the room crushing broken glass beneath his booted feet. 

It was Thor. 

“Oh my god, Thor, you’ve got my heart going like that,” Clint said when he had recovered sufficiently to inhale again. The mighty god sent him a brief and mostly friendly smile that turned into a deep frown as he strode across Clint’s apartment to where his brother lay. Clint cleared his throat. “Look, I know this looks bad – ”

“Loki,” Thor sighed, without taking any more notice of Clint or the others, kneeling by his brother’s side and turning him over carefully. He sounded deeply frustrated. “What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

Loki had been hit directly in the stomach, they could see now. The wound was just about a half a foot under his heart.

“Is he – ” Clint started, but Thor cut him off by pulling his red cape from his shoulders and pressing it into Clint’s hands.

“Hold this to the wound. Keep pressure while I move him to the couch.”

Clint snapped his mouth shut and did as instructed. Something about the way that Thor was over six feet tall and built like a brick kind of intimidated him. The commanding, authorial, kingly tone didn’t help much either. 

Tony and Steve shifted back to the couch as well, looking on curiously as Thor expertly began inspecting Loki’s wound in the light of the lanterns.

“Come on. Wake up,” Clint heard Thor mutter worriedly. He looked up, turning back to the other three. “Alcohol?”

“It’s in Tony,” Clint replied dumbly.

“Some that hasn’t been ingested.”

“I’ll get it,” Steve volunteered, heading for the fridge. Clint stood up, then realized there was nothing for him to do, and sat back down again. Pizza Dog tried to climb into his lap.  
He shoved him off, and Pizza Dog tried to climb onto Loki.

“Shoe,” Clint ordered him quickly, with a nervous glance at Thor. “Go sit with Tony.”

Pizza Dog jumped onto Tony’s lap and started licking at blood around Steve’s button-up shirt. Tony scratched at the dogs ears, looking mostly recovered from his injury. Pizza Dog’s presence seemed to have drawn Loki back to his senses, though. His eyes blinked open, and then he let out a small, pained sound and curled into his stomach protectively. Without thinking about it, Clint reached for Loki’s hand and held it tight in his. Loki held him even tighter, although Clint was completely certain that Loki had no idea what he was doing. He was just reacting to the pain.

“…Thor – ” gasped Loki as Thor pulled him upright and pulled Loki’s other hand away from the wound. Clint was shocked (not for the first time that night) at the sudden change in Loki’s behavior. The ex-god’s face was tight and wan, but there was an undeniably bright smile spreading across it.

“Don’t get too excited,” Thor said gruffly. “I’m not terribly pleased to see you, you know.”

“I – I’m glad you’re he–ah – ” Loki broke off, growling in pain again. “Glad – see your ugly face – one last – ”

“Don’t move,” Thor ordered, using his kingly voice. “You’ve been injured. You’ve lost a lot of blood. You’ve also thoroughly pissed me off, and we’re going to have a long, detailed discussion about that fact later. But you’re going to be fine, in the short term.”

Loki just chuckled painfully and attempted to smile again.

Clint raised his eyebrows, surprised at the exchange. Clint glanced at Tony, who looked just as surprised. “It’s like they’ve swapped personalities or something,” said Tony quietly.

“That would make a nice spinoff fic,” Steve muttered to the fourth wall.

“Wait hang on, Thor, how did you know where we were?” said Clint suspiciously. “You’ve never been to my apartment. You aren’t actually a secret Asgardian spy in disguise, are you?”

“I heard you call me,” Thor shrugged at him, and accepting some of Clint’s Hennessy from Steve. Clint bit his tongue as Thor opened the bottle one-handed and started applying it to the wound. That had been a gift from Kate… He’d been saving it for a night in with a lady friend…

“You were wise to seek my company, Friend Barton,” Thor continued. “Actually it was Heimdall who heard the call. I asked him to keep an eye on Loki these last few weeks. I told him to let me know if something – well, if something like this happened,” he said, gesturing at the blood on the floor and at his brother. “Which was inevitable, in hindsight,” he finished, frowning at Loki again.

Clint nodded in agreement, forgetting about the liquor. He didn’t know who Heimdork was. He was just glad that he was on Friend Barton terms with Friend Thor. It put a nice warm feeling in his chest.

Loki, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be having as many warm feelings. His grip on Clint’s hand was becoming vice-like. Clint could feel the bones shifting slightly. “I can’t – can’t breathe – ” Loki gasped. He started coughing, but through his coughing he was reaching for Thor, who was still cleaning the wound. “Thor –I can’t – ”

“Loki?” Thor said, shooting a swift, confused glance up at his brother’s face, but barely pausing in his work.

Loki gave a final, gasping cough and his eyes rolled back in his head. His body went limp. Clint’s hand was suddenly free. 

And with Thor looming over them both, Clint suddenly wanted to be anywhere else.

But to his surprise, once Loki’s eyes had closed, Thor’s face became intensely gentle. The big man leaned in close, placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder and another on his forehead. 

“You’ll be alright,” he murmured softly to Loki, brow creasing with worry. “Shh…Stay with me. Stay with me.”


	8. Loki: Recovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took forever to update, real life got in the way. Laaame! Anyway, this chapter suddenly took a turn for the slightly fluffy, but there's more Big Drama to come, I promise.

…Thor was gone.

Loki curled his face into the space between the cushions, pushing himself into the dark. Thor was gone, and that was all he cared to know at the moment. He didn’t want to deal with these Avengers people right now, or with their overly needy dog, or with the sunshine streaming in through what used to be the windows, or with the hole in his chest where he was erupting in pain. The literal hole. 

But the fact that Thor was gone, that was a sort of hole, too. He shoved his face closer to the couch. He didn’t want to deal with that hole either.

Across the apartment, his enemies were congregating. They must have assumed he was asleep – or they just didn’t care that he could hear everything they were saying. Barton, Loki’s former favorite puppet, was making some sort of hot brew. Steve Rogers, the soldier, was leaving. Stark was staying, and announcing it to the world quite loudly. 

“What are you doing?” Barton’s voice came from the kitchen after Rogers closed the front door with a ‘see you around soon, hopefully.’ 

“I’m ordering you a new TV,” said Stark, from somewhere just past Loki’s shoulder. 

“I don’t need – ” Barton paused and looked over his shoulder at his table. “Aw, man! I’ve had that set of rabbit-ears since I was seventeen, and now it’s been shot through the   
screen?! Damn those bros!” He groaned and turned back to Stark. “Are you hiding out in my apartment so that Pepper won't find out you got shot?”

“…Maybe. And, you know, to keep an eye on…”

Loki didn’t have to look around; he knew Stark was looking at him. He found an odd note in Stark’s voice, one he hadn’t heard there before. It took him a minute to identify it as concern.

“He was protecting me,” Stark said softly. Loki could hear him rubbing his arm, which Loki dimly remembered had been injured in the gunfire. He realized suddenly that he had saved Stark’s life last night. It was rather startling, even shocking. He hadn’t even thought out what he was doing; he had simply acted. His nose wrinkled in disgust; his mortal form had such terrible instincts.

Stark was continuing to muse aloud on the other side of the room. “Clint, how did it feel when you were under brainwash?” 

The smile in Barton’s voice was almost audible. “It felt AWESOME. Well, at the time. I hated myself afterwards, obviously. Guess that’s what he’s been doing lately too.”

So they knew. Thor must have told them. Loki groaned harder and pushed his face into the pillows again. After Loki had been “cognitively recalbritrated,” as Thor had rather obscurely put it, he’d certainly felt something strongly; whether it was self-hate was a question he hadn’t care to answer. But there was no denying that the brainwashing had felt pretty good for him, too. Times like these, he almost wanted it back. Almost.

…He felt so alone. That’s why he was thinking crazy thoughts. He’d been alone too long. Under normal circumstances, he’d be rejoicing in his freedom, in the fact that Thanos had no hold over him anymore, and never would again. Under normal circumstances…

Well, that was the real problem. There was no longer any such thing as “normal circumstances.” Not for him. 

…And there never would be again.

His stomach twisted, as it usually did when he arrived at the end of this particular train of thought, but this time the wound in his side reacted angrily, pushing an involuntary groan of pain out of him that he prayed the others wouldn’t hear.

But they did.

“You waking up, big guy?” called Barton.

“Technically, I’m pretty sure he’s ‘little guy,’ if we’re going by Thor standards,” said Stark in his annoyingly sarcastic way. 

“Don’t do that,” Barton said. “He hates being put on the Thor standard.”

Loki, who had been ignoring them up to this point, suddenly turned himself around and flung a pillow at full speed directly at Barton’s face. His anger had already swollen to twice its normal size, but it flared again as Barton easily dodged the pillow and his wound screamed in protest.

“You…dare presume to – ”

Barton laughed. “Fuck it, Loki, we’ve been inside each other’s heads. I know you know I know you inside out.”

Loki flung another pillow.

Barton dodged again.

Stark started laughing too.

“You guys are like super pals now?” he said through his laughter.

Loki glared at him malevolently, reaching for another pillow, but unfortunately he’d already thrown them all. But Barton just smiled in that easy-going, insufferable way that was starting to drive Loki mad. “He’s always been my super pal. We just had to stop being brainwashed to realize we were meant for each other.”

Loki bristled and started climbing to his feet. “You insolent, clownish – woah – ”

That was as far as the insult got before he had to very quickly sit back down. His face burned. Was this how mortals lived, fragile as butterflies and unable to heal themselves for what felt like eternity? If he’d been in his Asgardian form…

But that was another thing he would never have again. He reminded himself that at least he would no longer be Jotun either, and sat back into the couch to collect himself. Anger never solved any of his problems.

It was hard to cool down with Stark and Barton still grinning at him from across the room. And with Barton’s canine trying to climb into his lap.

“You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked levelly when he had pushed the dog away and recovered his breath.

“Sorta, yeah,” they both said.

“Now who’s super pals,” Loki muttered evilly. He looked quickly over at the window, then back at the Avengers.

“He went to visit some chick named Jane,” said Barton in response to the question Loki hadn’t asked. 

“You pretend to know me again, and I will throw your dog at you next time,” Loki spat at him.

“Hey! Not my fault that I know everything. You were the one who chose me for involuntary servitude, remember?”

“And using my personal secrets against me is your choice of comeuppance, is it?”

“Around here, we call it payback. And I’m not using anything against you, dude. I was just letting you know. And by the way, not like you care, but this happens to be my home you're currently staying at, so if you could, you know, refrain from throwing innocent dogs around, that would be great, too.”

Loki drew back as Barton finished his speech, looking at him with renewed interest, and a bit of suspicion. The sharp edge to Barton’s words was unmistakable, but at the same time, Barton was completely calm, pretending to a neutrality that Loki knew he couldn’t feel. After all, Barton was correct in claiming that Loki had forced him to do terrible things, even if the way he had claimed it was entirely unspoken. The man should be unraveling with anger, not shuffling back to his kitchen to cook some form of delicious-smelling breakfast. 

Loki looked at Stark for a clue, but Stark seemed as puzzled as he did. Or more so, even, because the next thing he did was to call over with a frown: “Clint?”

“Yeah.”

“Why are you being so nice to this joker?”

Loki frowned, and Stark frowned back at him. The man had wit, maybe, but no subtlety. In the kitchen, Barton just shrugged and then a moment later smiled his mild smile again and began to fry bacon. 

“Because I’m a man of mystery,” he finally replied. “But enough about me. How about smiley-face pancakes? It’s a Barton family secret recipe.”

“I know for a fact that that isn’t true,” Loki said, scowling at his hands. He only spoke to cover the sound of his stomach growling loudly. “And I don’t want any,” he added even more loudly.

“Yeah, doesn’t take a brain-washed crazy-ass demigod to tell bullshit from Bisquick,” Stark quipped, looking over at Loki curiously.

“But Pizza Dog doesn’t know, and that’s who I’m making these for,” said Barton. “You guys are getting his leftovers, not the other way around.”

“He’s going to get fat. You spoil him,” Loki said, glancing over at the canine, who was had been attacking the little dolphin toy in earnest for the last five minutes.

“You’re the one who brought that thing home for him, not me,” said Barton, setting a loaded plate in front of him. “That earns you at least one round of pancakes, like it or not.”

Loki was now feeling quite cornered. Stark wasn’t looking at him, since he was busy digging into his own food, but Barton was giving him a level, unrelenting stare. Reluctantly, he picked up the fork and bit into Barton’s food.

It was like a taste of heaven. It was the first real food he could remember eating since he’d arrived here two weeks ago, so he was fairly sure that anything would taste good at this point. Loki chewed quickly, staring down at his thighs, deeply disturbed by the fact that he was blinking back tears.

“I don’t like it,” he finally said, pushing the plate away.

“Yeah, but I said ‘like it or not,’ so you have to keep eating,” Barton said, pushing the plate back. “Just take it slow. It’s like when your mom made you eat broccoli as a kid. One bite at a time.” He scrunched up his nose. “Or whatever you guys had on Asgard instead of broccoli.”

“…We had broccoli,” Loki said softly, picking the fork back up again, and trying to keep his hand from shaking. If Barton noticed, he just smiled again, and picked up his own plate, tossing bacon to Pizza Dog. Across the couch, Stark paused in his mouthful and smirked at them.

“You two really are super pals.”

This time, Loki threw the whole plate.


End file.
